The Tale of Alarion Solarii

The ship carrying Alarion Solarii crashes against a reef. The boat has 5 others besides him, three of which are the captain and his mates the other two a newly wedded couple. As the ship begins to break on the rocks all jump to swim to the safety of the coast. Alarion Solarii half because he goes back to collect his gear and half to make sure all make it to safety, waits until the last possible minute to jump from the ship. As he does he notices one of the mates however has difficulty and is in trouble heading to a section of the reef, although not a great swimmer Alarion Solarii manages with superhuman effort to drag the man and himself away from danger and onto the beach. His sense of victory is short lived though for no sooner does he land ashore to the captain yelling to the young couple that “it wasn’t my fault look there! Some fool built a temporary lighthouse on the beach! Any ships sailing this way would have done…the….same…as us…”
The Captain’s warning words are interrupted by the arrival of two dark figures carrying torches, in the distance and two more torches are moving quickly from the bushes to join them. The pirates demand everyone surrender or die. Dropping his backpack in front of him on the sandy beach Alarion Solarii hides behind it hoping the shadows will conceal his arrival as he takes his crossbow in hand. Moments later a two bolts fly from the figures and he hears one splash into the waters behind him but the other makes a solid thunk as it imbeds into the mate he had brought ashore only a few moments before. The newlywed wife screams as he drops back into the water. Without a second thought Alarion Solarii releases his own bolt and begins to charge the remaining figure, his aim proving true dropping the figure with a bolt in the neck. Instead of trying to load another bolt Alarion Solarii drops his crossbow on the run and removes his Greatsword. The eyes of the remaining pirate open wide as he finishes loading the bolt and as he brings up his crossbow to take another shot the massive blade slices through the air and ends with a sickening sloshy slicing sound followed by the twang of the blade as it tore through the side of the figure as she is blown back into a pool of blood, sand and ichors. It was only then that Alarion Solarii realised that she had indeed loosed her bolt and must have missed as he charged forward. Another scream from the wife snapped him out of his focus on the unmoving bodies at his feet. Turning towards the scream he could see that the captain was taken down with a bolt still sticking morbidly from the center of his forehead and his last mate was holding his leg from an ominously gory wound from another bolt from the remaining two brigands. Alarion Solarii was already leaping into action covering the distance between himself and the two adversaries as they dropped their crossbows and drew their cutlasses. Too late. With a mighty piercing thrust Alarion Solarii impaled the nearest figure to the hilt before stopping his charge, the lifeless body of his adversary flying to land a short distance away as the blade continued to tear him nearly into two pieces at the waist. It was then that the sharp sting like that of a million flaming daggers erupted from Caedmon’s left leg. The remaining brigand’s Cutlass had dug deep and was half covered with the blood from the nasty wound. Pushing the fear and the pain to the back of his mind Alarion Solarii used the momentum built up from his charging attack to wheel on his new opponent with a high strike. His luck and his aim held true and a macabre chunk sound was all that he heard followed by a soft thud and then a larger thud. Alarion Solarii looked for more attackers but there were no more torches running from the bushes where these would be murders had sprung from. He saw the sobbing wife held by her husband and the wounded mate on the ground beside them with a look like he had never seen before. A cold look with eyes and mouth agape. It was a look nearly mirrored in the torchlight by the head of the last brigand he had dispatched. The disembodied corpse still spraying the last of the lifeblood in shorter and shorter spurts on the sandy beach. Alarion Solarii started towards the young couple but immediately the pain in his leg made him stop and reconsider. He changed direction to go to where he had left his backpack placing the still dripping great sword in it’s scabbard between his shoulders; he would need to stop the bleeding and fight to stay awake as the wound he had taken nearly left him in the same position of the captain and the bandits. He had just enough time to recovered his bow, sling it to his side and arrived at his pack before he heard a soft chanting of arcane words from beyond his living companions. By instinct he dropped and remained still, semi confident that he was beyond the light of the four torches strewn about the beach and in the safety of the shadows. He was no rogue but he was no fool either, he was in no condition to fight and this was magic after all. His three remaining companions all fell lifelessly as he chanting ended and Alarion Solarii knew instantly they were under an enchanted sleep. As he watched in horror four figures emerged from the shadows behind the lovers and the Captain. Three were the definition of human cutthroats, two men and one woman who was definitely the one who commanded this situation even though a weather beaten dwarf just over four feet in height was the first to speak. “I told ye Captain, Durla was too inexperienced and full of battle-lust to be allowed to work the watch with Vearn” He waived his arms about the scene to emphasise his point. “He was so love-drunk for her he followed her to their folly and took half our crew with ‘em!”, said the gruff dwarf as he kicked the nearest living thing to him which just so happened to be the unfortunate slumbering form of the ‘White Mountain’ Captain. “Your observations are as true as ever Svingal.” The captain said with a note of disappointment in her voice. “Those two had become a little lax with our successes over the last few weeks and paid for it with their lives.” Gesturing to the two other pirates her voice changed drastically to one of command that carried with it the warning that there would be no further discussion on this. “Svingal, Trouk, take these two back to the camp and tie them well, we’ll use them for ransom. Garon, collect the arms and healing potions from out fallen and meet me there after you are done.” “What use are these pups anyways, we should dispatch them as we did all the others!” questioned the dwarf with another swift kick on the Captain’s slumbering form. Her eyes narrowed and she stopped for a moment to consider things, just long enough for the dwarf to consider his words. “That dear Syingal is why you are my first mate and not the captain. Your short-sightedness is why I entrust you to organize the rest of the crew to collect the captured supplies and dispose of all evidence as you have done so remarkably well over the last few weeks.” Her expression suddenly became excited. “Do you know who he is?” She said as her head directed towards the unconscious form the dwarf had already kicked twice, she didn’t wait for any replies. ‘That one is Captain Bailuth of the ‘White Mountain’ a small coastal vessel who was charged with transporting the young scion of the Nutrillon sailing coster and his bride.” The lights suddenly came on in the angry dwarfs eyes when he realised what a ransom this could be. “But what of the Captain?” He asked his captain, clearly not wanting to insult again. “What of him? He’s of no value.” As she said those words she drew her Falchion blade and buried it deep into the chest of the captain of the White Mountain. Alarion Solarii fought against his instincts, there was nothing he could do, injured as he was and his leg almost numb in the cold sea water. He had to wait for his opportunity. After taking the two lovers over their shoulders, the dwarf and the pirate named Trouk followed the Captain lead towards where they had emerged from the bushes, leaving only a single cutthroat named Trouk and Alarion Solarii on the beach. As quietly as he could Alarion Solarii loaded his crossbow. If he timed this right he may just get out of this with his head, if not well there was no running away in his condition that was for sure. The pirate began collecting the packs, weapons and supplies from the fallen still unaware that Alarion crouched just out of the shadows of the torchlight. His companions had ventured far enough that Alarion could no longer see them or hear their banter anymore. This was it. The torch on the ground still illuminated the pirate fully, Alarion rose slowly in the shadowy darkness and moved into action taking sight to aim and firing his crossbow. No sooner had the bolt left the crossbow than he begin to charge towards the unaware cutthroat. The bolt struck the cutthroat in the neck but before any sound could be Alarion took a few seconds to look around and see if any of the former group had heard the commotion and come back but all he could hear was the roar of the surf on the break beyond and the roll of the waves as they lapped upon the beach. The cutthroat had managed to collect all the items from his companions into an old leather backpack and a large burlap sack. Hurriedly Alarion looked through the backpack for any kind of bottle or vial, the Captain had mentioned healing potions and his leg was definitely in need of care. Upon opening it he wasn’t sure if he had discovered potions as there was a nearly full case labelled Bronthian Ale which at first glance appeared to be nothing more than bottles of beer. Taking the case out of the backpack he found that only 4 slots of the case were empty with the remaining 20 were filled with 5 bottles of 4 different colors, Red, Blue, Black and Green. Each type was an entirely different liquid. Alarion had worked for many years in the Apocathary at the College and thought himself a capable discerner of most things. During his over 20 years at the college what time he had beyond studying the arcane under Master Solarri, or on the grounds of the Agog training with Master Gladius, he had spent learning the healing arts and earning a few coin in the Askleipion apocathary under the guide of the venerable dwarven healer Ovrur Norlyr. After spending a few minutes with the potions – holding them up to the torchlight and wafting their aromas he is pretty sure the Green one will provide additional resilience to the elements of the natural world, the leftover grasshopper leg floating in the Black one will provide for a powerful kenetic augmentation in case he needs to leap anywhere requiring distance, but the Blue and Red ones are so evenly diluted that he is unsure which if either could be the healing one without an actual lab or tools. Throwing caution to the wind he downs one of the red ones. The heavy bitter leathery taste of the potion is like drinking an old shoe. After nearly gagging a tingling feeling around his entire body solidifies into an invisible, yet tangible field of force. “Ah, this is exactly the same as when I conjure my arcane armor.” Alarion whispered to himself. “Meaning you must be the cures the captain talked about.” And he grabbed the Blue bottle and drinks it. There is a sudden gurgle in his stomach as the two powerful unguents and liquids battle as they mix together. “Potion miscibility – how could I be so foolish!” Alarion screams in his head. Then the gurgling stops and he feels the pain in his leg go away. Looking down at it he is amazed to find that it totally closes up and heals without even a scar, even the few aches and pains he had from the coldness and voyage are long forgotten memories. Clenching his hand in a fist he still feels the tangible resistance of the aura from the arcane armor potion he first drank and smiled. Going through the sack he quickly realized the scimitars, crossbows and bolts were of outstanding craftsmanship and each inscribed with a seal looking like a stylised W and V intertwined on a circular background. The mark of Weyland Volundr, a weaponsmith so renowned even Alarion who knew little of such things still knew that anything he had forged or crafted would always be of the best quality and immeasurably higher price. Replacing his crossbow and bolts with Weyland ones Alarion spent no time following the path of the captain and her two lackeys towards the false lighthouse. Regardless of the risks he had to save the young couple from what, come the light of day, would surely be a grisly fate. Just after going through the bushes and past a small rise he found their camp. From where Alarion crouched he could no longer see the shore but the rhythmic sounds of the surf were still quite noticeable. Surrounding the now obviously false lighthouse tower, as the silhouette of true lighthouse could now be seen in the distance. The 60-foot-tall skeletal tower sloped outward toward the ground but measured about 25 feet square at the top with a ladder attached on the side nearest the campsite. A great fire basin made of stone and metal, as well as a pile of wood burned brightly on the top. A winch standing beside the structure was likely used to haul wood and other supplies to the top of the tower. The campsite itself consisted of four large tents, a central wooden pavilion with something still stewing above a fire, and three wooden buildings that most likely were storage sheds. Sitting and standing and on the ground under the pavilion was the pirates and their prisoners. Waiting until the pirates were together and slightly away from the slumbering newlyweds Alarion began his plan. With an arcane word the blade of Alarion’s Greatsword burst into flame. He hoped that the ones at camp would assume it was their companion returning as luck would have it he was right and they did not halt what they were doing or pay him any heed. That is until Alarion began the gesturing and incantations of a spell. Many at the college envied Alarion as the precocious apprentice and ward of master Selar he had been shown the basics of a spell beyond the what would normally be trained, this is why he was taken as a ward of the old man for somehow he knew that Alarion would push beyond the limits of experience and training. This of course angered the other students and left Alarion with few true friends, but at this moment with his survival at stake he called upon all the powers of arcane art he could because there would likely be no second chance against these cutthroats. With weapon in hand, Alarion finished the last of the arcane gestures and words that activate the power of the spell as the three pirates drew their weapons. As the captain knocked an arrow in her longbow the dwarf with his Morningstar and the remaining pirate with his scimitar began to charge foreward as he cast the spell. The final gesture was to hurl a single slashing weapon at your foes, and although confident in his ability there had been times when Alarion had failed to keep channelling correctly and the blade landed harmlessly a few feet away. If this happened here he would be in dire straits with only a crossbow to attack with. The blade, carried along both by the might and magical prowess began to whirl and fly towards each of the pirates like a spinning carousel of death and flame for all foes in it’s path. The dwarf was struck so powerfully that it sent his unconscious torn and burning body cart wheeling into the half full stewing pot, both the dwarf and stew’s usefulness were at an end. The pirate fared much worse being cleaved in two at the waist, the burning fire cauterising as it tore through him reducing the amount of gore his two halves left next to the dwarf and stew. The captain never did get her shot off as she tried to tumble out of the way of the maelstrom of death coming at her, but it was not enough. Her eyes were wide with disbelief and her mouth contorted into a vulgar scream that was never heard as the slash of the great fiery blade struck her solidly on her shoulder forcing her to the ground face first, though she never felt the impact into the well packed dirt under the pavilion. With it’s magic spent the Greatsword stopped whirling and returned to Arion’s outsretched hand after striking the Captain, it’s flames tickled with no heat and when the flame went out Alarion found himself looking over the carnage, the only sound being the crackling of the firepit, and he allowed himself to feel the anguish of the terrible things he had been forced to do. Going over to the still slumbering forms of the newlyweds he spent the next few minutes sobbing. He had never killed anyone before. Though he kept telling himself he had no choice his mind continued to go over everything and torment him with ways this could have all been avoided, something broke in the large man, the vision of youthful fantasy had been torn away and he had himself a good cry in honor of it. Alarion was not sure how long he had been sitting at the table under the pavilion when the bride began to stir. Composing himself he asked her. “Are you alright Lady Nutrillon?” his voice sounded broken in his head so he gave a deep cough to clear his throat. She nodded that she was fine but said nothing as she held her husband in her lap. “I will go and scout around to make sure there are no other brigands to bother us my Lady. Before I take my leave though I will bring you water and food for yourself and your husband, if he awakens before my return.” She again nodded and Alarion went about the camp finding a water cask and goblets which he placed on the table as well as dishes which he filled with some of the remaining stew still in the half spilled pot the dwarf had knocked over in his final moments, along with utensils. “I will not be long, but if there is trouble yell and I will be here within seconds.” “Thank you Alarion.” She replied, a small smile of gratitude on her face. Alarion began first with the tents and storage sheds in the camp. In the tents he found nothing of use but the sheds were filled with the loot the pirates had aquired over what looked like the bounty of several small to medium sized vessels. The storage sheds alone included twelve casks of salted meat, eighteen casks of wine and other spirits, twenty-eight bales of cloth, three casks of glassware, fifteen hundred copper ingots, nineteen casks of oil, and fifteen casks of herbs and spices. He then moved to explore the beach more thoroughly and discovered two boats that the pirates used to loot the ships wrecked on the reef. Beyond them was the lighthouse. A three story structure that smelt of death as he approached. Even though it was a calm still early morning before sunrise the wind still blew strong around the structure, positioned as it was atop an outcropping of the peninsula. Within he found the decomposing bodies of the family that once lived there a husband, wife and 2 small children. The brigands truly did deserve their fate. Atop the lighthouse the beacon was smashed and would need to be replaced for the building to once again become useful. After he gathered the bodies together at the foot of the lighthouse and buried them in a shallow marked grave he said a quick prayer and returned to the tower. Alarion spent the next hour bringing the bodies of the pirates and crew of the White Mountain to a spot a little ways from the camp for burial as well. Returning to Lord and Lady Nutrillon he asked if they wanted to say any final words over the spot where Captain Bailuth rested and they shared a moment in repose. After Alarion and the two newlyweds had finished eating but no one seemed comfortable after the ordeal they had been through. “We should set out to the next port in case there are any more of these pirates around.” Alarion said, more to give himself a sense of what to do next than anything else. “I found two boats on the beach that we could use to continue on. They are nowhere near as nice as the White Mountain was but if we stick close to shore they should provide us with an easier path than through the surrounding marches.” “You have protected us so far and saved out lives young Solarri.” Lord Nutrillon began. “I will follow where you lead until we find ourselves back to civilized life.” Lord Nutrillon said while holding his silent bride in his arms. “We can use the one boat to hold enough supplies for a couple weeks if need be and tie it to the one we would be in. I don’t know how long the journey will be that way but it sure is better than staying here.” Said Alarion. He paused for a long moment before continuing. “There is one thing that needs to be done first.” he said at long last, and he headed towards the tower ladder and began to climb. When he reached the top he was amazed at the view it offered. From here he could clearly see that if there were any pirates remaining they would need to see in the dark. Save for the fire atop the tower and the pit below the pavilion there was nothing but night and darkness as far as he could see as the thick grey clouds hid much of the sky. The lighthouse rose like a haunting empty husk in the distance with no lights from within or atop it. The terrain around the lighthouse and camp was one of rolling hills, sand dunes dotted with patches of tall grass and trees. In the distance Alarion could make out that beyond the raised area formed by the dunes and going off into the distance was a rough swamp and sparse trees covering most of the peninsula. Alarion doused the fire. It had nearly burned out at this point but better to be safe than sorry, no need to have another crew run aground if he could at all avoid it. He descended again, grabbed the backpacks and equipment and motioned to the others that it was time to go. The first rays of sunlight had began to spread across the peninsula by the time the tents, bedding and supplies had been loaded on one of the boats. The two vessels had been securely fastened together and they were ready to depart. “We’ll travel through the day and find the safest landing spot we can to rest at night along the way.” He commanded. “Sounds good to me,” Lord Nutrillon responded, “The faster we continue the journey to Bridgeorth the better!” So the companions set off on their journey around the peninsula to the next port in the direction the White Mountain had last been heading. It is a two day journey with a stopover the first night on the marshy shore. Finding a decent cove just before nightfall they set camp and have dinner. Alarion who has not slept in nearly two full days is barely able to remain on his feet. Just as he is discussing plans for Lord Nutrillon to take the first watch over the dark hours and hand him his Greatsword and crossbow a panther pounces on Lord Nutrillon! The great cat’s attack bowls over the nobleman, Lady Nutrillon screems as her new husband lies beneath the beast with his belly raked open and the animal’s maw firmly clamped down around his neck. Alarion drops the crossbow and took an off balance swing at the beast but it had quickly moved out of the swing and lunged at Lady Nutrillon quieting her screams as it’s teeth bit deep into her side and claws raked her back. Alarion swung as furiously as he could striking the hind of the muscular Panther but it quickly stopped mauling the Lady and turned it’s attention to the young man that had just injured it so badly. It’s teeth were the first thing Alarion saw coming at him but he managed to use his forearm to take the blow rather than his throat which he was sure was the creatures target, he managed to avoid one swipe from the great cat’s clawed paw but the speed of it’s attacks allowed a second strike that tore flesh and clothes. The creature could smell the fear off the large man as Alarion’s head began to swoon from the pain. They both knew in that moment that the next strike would be the end of the hunt. Alarion swung down and across from his left at the Panther with all the strength he had as it lunged in to end his life, the greatsword struck the Panther so hard in the shoulder that it reversed the momentum and sent the creature past Alarion to the right. Still alive but injured badly the Panther roared at the man with the sword before turning to the body of it’s first prey and with one fluid movement disappeared back into the marsh beyond. Barely able to move Alarion dragged himself to the old leather backpack, retrieved two blue potions. He quaffed one immediately then dragged his way to the fallen Lady Nutrillion and, holding her blood soaked head in his one hand, gently and slowly poured the contents into her mouth. His strength returned though he still felt fatigued from his lack of sleep, and within seconds Lady Nutrillon’s eyes opened and she looked around. She raced to her husband’s body and sobbed inconsolably. Keeping a sharp eye out for the Panther in case it returned Alarion knew her lamentations would soon either attract it or something even worse. He put his sword away and approached the grieve stricken woman, already beginning the cantrip he had learned to help him study on those long nights before a test. At the moment the incantation ended Alarion was as refreshed as if he had spent a full night sleeping while the widow Nutrillon’s screams quieted to sobs and then into a deep sleep as the intense fatigue overcame her. Alarion placed a bedroll in the boat and placed her on it as gently as he could without awakening her. She did not awake. He then moved to the body of Lord Nutrillon and wrapped it before placing it in the other boat. He then retrieved his spellbook from his pack, climbed into the boat next to his lone sleeping companion, said a few magic words to make his sword glow with light as bright as a torch and opened his spellbook to begin to commit to memory the forms of arcane magic that would help them survive until they reached Bridgeorth, he hoped. Less than an hour later Alarion he was done and with all supplies safely stowed away began to make the journey through the night along the coastline. By the rise of the early morning sun he had arrived at the town of Bridgeorth and latching the boats to the nearest open dock. It was around this time that Widow Nutrillon awoke. “Civilization. Thank the gods.” she said in a disinterested rasp whisper. Alarion latched the towed boat with her husbands body still wrapped to the side she was farthest away from. She looked off, towards the approaching docks man. Alarion had already unloaded the equipment and the body and the widow by the time he arrived. Soon he ran to get the guards and inform Mayor Symond. In the meantime Alarion looked to the widow and comforted her. A few minutes later the seargant of the guard and two men at arms arrived with the docks man. After explaining things to the guards again the poor chap finaly remembered to ask for the docking fee. “Two longboats, that’ll be 10 coppers a day sir. How long will you be stayin’?” he asked and held out his hand. Alarion let go of the widow and produced a gold piece, it was all he had and added before giving it to him, “That will be for a two things – the doc rental for a week and arrange proper transport for …”, and Alarion nudged towards the body. “Speaking of the deceased sir, do you mind telling me what happened? Though I likely know.” Said the seargant.
Alarion thanks the Mayor and knowing that all is in hand he excuses himself and heads to the nearest Inn, The Beggar’s Cask, a single storey stone-walled building, with several stained glass windows and vaulted ceilings. Accommodations consist of several small rooms with beds and woollen mattresses. The innkeeper is a tall male human named Rewalt Arner. After settling in he heads into the market square and visited a few of the different shops before arriving at ‘Gare and Borin’s Vault’; the town’s General Store. Located in a two-storey tower with several stained glass windows and a smooth stone floor, the very air filled with glowing motes of multi-hued lights. At the far end of the many shelves and isles of materials standing behind a large desk was the shopkeeper; a young man named Gare. After gathering some much needed materials to update his spellbook and make some scrolls Alarion approached the storekeeper. “I hope you found everything you were looking for? Name’s Gare and you look like you are a man that found an adventure.” After talking with the shopkeeper Alarion finds that Gare is a retired adventurer and freely tells Alarion several stories of distant lands and terrible monsters. Alarion in turn tells him of his recent adventure and asks if he would be interested in buying the majority of the items claimed from the bandits. After looking over the 8 masterwork crossbows and 6 masterwork scimitars along with 5 of the outfits and 148 bolts Alarion is looking to sell, Gare says he could definitely find a buyer for them fairly quickly but doesn’t have much in the way of coin to buy so much outright. Pausing for a brief moment he shakes his head, smiles and waves his finger saying “But I have something even better.” Disappearing into his back room he continues talking “I recently acquired a staff of exquisite craftsmanship that would be perfect for a new graduate from a Wizard’s College out on his first adventure.” He emerged with a long item wrapped in a sheet flowing in the air as he quickly brought it to the counter and laid it down. Unwrapping the protective sheath he slowly reveals a well crafted black staff. Alarion immediately felt a connection with the smooth ebony wood staff. It was slightly longer than his quarter staff and ended in a beautifully carved obsidian spiral head. Inspecting the staff closer Alarion could not help but notice the pleasant aroma of honeysuckle entwined with the humidity of a still summer evening emanating from it in an old but welcoming and strangely familiar way. Gare looked at him and smiled saying “Well, for being such a nice lad who listened to my tales so compassionately, as my way to help get a new friend and fellow adventurer started I’ll trade this staff, some scrolls and potions recently purchased in an estate sale, along with the parchment and materials you originally come in for as an even exchange. Fair enough?” With that he held out his arm and after taking a few seconds to consider it Alarion agreed and shook on the deal. “Great! I really think someone like you will find a use for these and I can make a quick turn around on these items so it works out well for both of us!” Thanking his new friend Gare wrapped up the staff in it’s protective sheet and the other materials he placed meticulously in a new leather backpack saying “If you are back this way again you’ll have to tell me how everything turns out! I wish you luck in your adventure Alarion.” And with hat the two waved goodbye, though Alarion never did find out who Borin was. Retiring back to his room at the Inn he took the time to scribe a few spell before heading to the common room for a decent cooked meal.
The next day after asking about the Tor, Rewalt leans forward and looks around to make sure no one is eavesdropping and tells him that the best one to speak to. ”You see that old man at the corner table? He is the one you want to speak with, his family is from that area, he’s one of the Bear Clan I think.” Seeking him out he finds out the history of the human tribes and the eventual fall into tribes after the coming of the mages. The old man at first tells him to leave him alone, getting violent to the point of throwing his glass of mead at him, then suddenly wide eyed stops and asks for fogiveness as Alarion draws his greatsword in anticipation of a fight. The old man tells him he would be glad to tell the bearer of Enheduana's Blade all that he knows. “My time in this world is coming to an end, and you have the bearing not of one from Nydeis but the cold blue eyes Enheduana and the dark locks of Koth himself.” His smile fades as he looks away and looses himself in memories that seem unpleasant, “and with no sons of my own I would like to see my legacy is not lost. Through you young Alarion I can make amends to the gods, through you I may find peace.” Looking him straight on and placing a hand on his shoulder he continues. “I ask only in return for teaching you our ways that you promise to take me with you to the burial grounds of Temenoi-Tepe upon the ruins of Esalia. This is our homeland, where mortal men were first born, where we once walked amongst the gods.” It took little time for Alarion to consider this offer as a companion that knew his way around a blade to share the possibly dangerous and lethal journey ahead into the unknown was more than welcomed. “Then we have a deal! We start tomorrow. And if I should pass before we get there it is on you to bring my ashes to the burial grounds of my ancestors wearing the skins of my forefathers,” he tugged at the bear hide he was wearing, “and the relics of my tribe.” He showed Alarion the necklace of teeth and claws about his neck and shook them, then with a smile slapped the young man on the back. “Ready yourself young Alarion for nothing you learned in your academy will be like the path you are about to set upon; the true path of the warrior!” The following morning the old man wakes him up by nearly beating him to death as he starts the young man’s path to knowledge with the traditional ways of the Bear Tribe, through physical training. Exhausted from the rigors of training Alarion still found the fortitude every night to write everything down in a book he had picked up at one of the shops. After days of intense physical challenges both physical, emotional and mental tests continued. When he wasn’t being taught how to track, hunt and fight with blade and bow the old man would sit for hours by the fire having him listen to the many myths and stories of his people, their gods, rituals, beliefs, history and icons. Of course Alarion would write sown all of it as soon as the old man would fall asleep and he put him to bed, the stench of ale and campfire smoke heavy on the old man. (He trains with the old man for 8 days, This gives him a level of his Barbarian and knowledge history and knowledge local as he trains with him before the old man passes on.) Eight days later Alarion was startled by the old man shaking him awake whispering, “Prepare yourself you fool, brigands have come for us!” No sooner had Alarion tied off his cloak and grabbed his greatsword than the front door to the old cabin burst open. With the old man at his side they watched as three men in chain armor and another all dressed in black leathers came through what was left of the doorway. “What do you want, why have you come for me?” Asked the old man. The one in black laughed a little and smiled, “It’s not you old man. It’s the young prince next to you that I am here for.” “Young prince?” The old man asked incredulously. “Yes, I have been sent to retrieve Master Solarri’s adopted son at all costs. You have lead us on quite a journey Prince Alarion. Following the string of dead bodies to you was easy, guessing that you would be slumming with a mundane, well that took me by surprise.” The old man looked at Alarion, “You are the adopted son of a Highmage of Nydeis? It all makes sense now. The sword, your age.” The old man gulped once like he had just taken the swig of a terribly bitter whisky then tightened the grip on his sword. “Remember your promise to me boy!” Then he let out a yell and brought his two handed mace above his head meaning to charge the man in black. Before he knew it Alarion he saw the flash of blades as the man in black leaped into action just as quickly to catch the old man before he even took a full step brushing aside the battleaxe with his sword and burying his dagged deep into the old man’s flank. Stepping to the right away from them Alarion called forth a protective field around himself as he prepared to take on the three goons brandishing swords as the battle between the man in black and the old man raged on less than ten feet away. Focusing on the first attacker Alarion feinted to the left nearly running into the man dressed in black then juked to his right as the blade from the first assailant flew past him and struck the man in black to their utter astonishment. The other two split off one flanking the old man the other coming in charging Alarion with a clumsy strike that was easily dodged. The goon that had struck his boss took an angry swing at Alarion who read the frustrated attack and easily stepped back to avoid the wild swing and parry the thrust of the other goon he was fighting then came down with a half chop to cleave the other goon of his life. Alarion glanced towards the old man with a smile on his face, pleased at how well he executed that manoeuvre the old man had taught him only the previous morning. Alarions jubilation turned to horror as the man in black’s dagger impaled his mentor again in the flank and was followed swiftly by his thrusting sword piercing straight through the old man’s chest. It felt like an eternity before Alarion realised the blood curdling scream he heard was his own. Now it was the man in black who turned a bloodied smirk at the young prince. Alarion let his emotions swell within him and lunged at the man in black as he tore his sword and dagger from the dying body of the old man. As the power welled up within him he let slip the phrase “Combustio” as his blade made a diagonal swipe at the man in black it erupted in white hot flames, byt the end of his swing the flames began to dissipate from the sword, though they would live for longer than the man in black as he slumped next to the old man on the floor a horrible gash torn across his seared mid section. The remaining goons looked at each other and charged at the half naked young man. Alarion was able to stop the attack from behind with a deft parry but the one in front of him landed a blow just under his left armpit as he did so causing blood to flow from the fresh wound and Alarion to gasp in pain. He landed yet another slash to Alarion’s right leg with his next swipe before the blade of the young barbarian wizard struck in a massive uppercutting motion that threw the goon off his feet as it sliced through his chest and chek leaving nothing but a corpse to hit the floor moments later. The last man had moved into Alarions blindspot and struck instantly sending fiery pain down his back. Screaming from the pain and loosing strength second by second Alarion swung around with all of his considerable might in a wide horizontal swing in a 180 degree circle that cut the last mans legs off just above the knees. His screems were cut short a few moments later with a sword thrust to the man’s heart. Alarion fell, gasping on the floor and crawled over to the old man to hold him in his lap. Unbeleivably a spurt of blood erupted from his mouth and his eyes opened. In the raspy quite whisper of a man at death’s door he spoke only a few words. “You are Dro, son of Koth, you have your mothers eyes, your fathers hair, your kingdom’s sword and a promise to keep. Remember what I taught you…..remember your…..promise.” With those last words the light in his eyes dimmed and the old man was no more. After a few minutes to let it all sink in Alarion felt the adrenaline leaving him and the ghastly nature of treating his wounds became his focus. The old man had shown him how to heal as well as hunt and his efforts to train the young man had saved his life this evening. As he set about bandaging and treating his many wounds the reality of who he might be and what that meant filled his thoughts. Nothing would ever be the same. He had been betrayed by the closest person to a father he had ever known and lost a father figure all in the same second. It was too much to take in and so he did nothing but sit in the body strewn bloodfilled cabin for a long time until he snapped out of it. Looking at the body of the old man on the floor he knew only that a friend he had made a promise to required his service, and he would be the type of man that kept his promises. The next hour found Alarion performing the ritual of death and adhering to the proper mourning practices as he was told to before gathering the cremated ashes of the old man with him in a small box Then putting on the hides the old man wore along with the necklace of bears teeth and claws that he promised he would wear until he reached Temenoi-Tepe, he gathered the rest of his things along with the last of the bandages and healing salves, dressed one of the bodies in his academy clothes and lit the cabit ablaze. As far as the world would know Alarin Solari died there that day, he thought to himself but it would mark today as the day the son of Edhuana and Koth was reborn. Dro, as the old man had called him, headed out of town towards temonoi-tepe. With a final glance back at the burning cabin he unsheathed the black staff and threw the material into the fire. Today a legend would be born.

Back to Legends & Lore